A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"
But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while
Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
-- Emily Dickinson
when you see this, post a poem in your journal. Mmmmm, memes.
I don't know why I like this poem so much. It's been my "favorite" since high school, but it's not how today - kind of rainy and overcast - feels. I guess it's a good reminder of the wonder of nature, and the unknown.
I know it's breaking the rules, but
Memorial Day Services
How often I've stood here before
Bowed down with stones and crosses.
To hear men talk of gifts and gains
While I count only losses.
Each man's the same, the self-deceit,
The fingers-crossed excusing.
We say we must, then drape with flags
The coffins' rude accusing.
Today's are talks and prayers of peace,
But I remember others.
Each year the fashions seem to change
In whom to call our brothers.
Would God I might stand here sometime
When drums, and bugles' blowing,
Sound less like enemies at night
Their ghastly tare-seeds sowing.
-- written May 28, 1939, by Harold S. Carlson
The odd thing is that both have rhyme schemes. And yet I'm not a big rhyme-scheme person. I'll have to ponder on that one.